by JoAnn Ross
“So you did,” Taylor agreed dryly. “As for the FBI, I didn’t give them any details. I only asked Dempsey and the two other agents he called in, if the government gave rewards for the recovery of stolen salvage. Hypothetically, of course.”
“And you thought they’d buy that?” Donovan asked. As many years as he’d been a cop, he’d heard just about everything. And could still be surprised at the idiocy of some people.
Taylor nodded. “They certainly seemed to. In fact, they didn’t appear at all interested in anything I had to say.”
Donovan knew better, but he didn’t see any point in muddying the waters at this point. Since Taylor had actually been cooperating for once, he didn’t want to take a chance on her clamming up.
“Where is the Wainani , Taylor?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know. Ford said it would be safer if he was the only one who knew where she went down,” she added, seeing Donovan’s disbelieving look.
“Do you know if he had a chart showing the spot?”
Taylor shook her head dejectedly. “I don’t think so. That’s what the people who trashed our shops were looking for, wasn’t it? The chart.”
“It would appear so,” Donovan agreed.
“I was so worried about the authorities finding out what Ford was doing. But the men who tore the place apart weren’t FBI, were they?”
Donovan’s lips were a taut, grim line. “No. They would’ve shown up with a warrant.”
Her blond hair was like a curtain, hiding her face as she bent her head. When she finally lifted her gaze, her wet eyes observed Donovan bleakly. “Ford’s in a great deal of danger, isn’t he, Donovan?”
Donovan knew the gallant thing to do would be to lie, to assure Lani’s friend that she’d have her missing fiancé back in time for dinner. “I think he is, Taylor,” he said instead.
She digested that for a long, thoughtful moment. “Then you’ll just have to find him before something terrible happens to him.”
“Of course he will,” Lani assured her. “Won’t you, Donovan?”
“Since I’ve always been a sucker for gorgeous damsels in distress,” Donovan said philosophically, “I suppose I don’t have any choice.”
“Taylor is beautiful, isn’t she, Donovan?” Lani asked as they drove away from the Sugar Shack.
Knowing he was in a no-win situation, Donovan merely shrugged. “Sure. I suppose so. If a guy goes for that type.”
She slanted him a sideways glance. “Don’t most men prefer blondes?”
“Not necessarily. And I thought we’d agreed that I’m not most men. Are you by any chance fishing for compliments?”
The blush that was the bane of every redhead’s life rose brilliantly in her cheeks. Folding her arms, Lani directed her gaze steadfastly out the window. “Of course not. Don’t be silly.”
He reached over and took her hand. “For the record, the gorgeous damsel in distress I was referring to was you.”
A smile lit her eyes. “Thank you, Donovan. That’s a very nice thing to say.”
“It’s the truth,” he said simply as he glanced up at the rearview mirror, not at all surprised to see the sedan still following at a discreet distance.
19
The car continued to stick with them later that evening, parking nearby when they attended a showing of Thomas Breslin’s paintings at the Orchid Island Gallery. Donovan had been to several gallery shows over the years but none as unique as this one.
The white walls were covered with abstract paintings, all of which were as colorful as they were horrendous. Watching Thomas circulate through the crowd, drinking in the enthusiastic compliments, Donovan decided that he had never seen a happier man. To no one’s surprise, it appeared that the show would sell out before a family dinner at the Breslin home.
“Would you be very angry at me if I showed up a little late to the dinner?” Donovan asked, taking Lani aside. She’d glammed up for the occasion in a dress-style version of a Chinese tunic, slit on the side to reveal an enticing glimpse of golden thigh. The blaze of color would have put a bird of paradise to shame. “I need to slip away for a short while.”
“Of course not. I can always get a ride with Mom and Dad. Or Margaret and Kai, who’ll be joining us, since he’s essentially become part of the family. Where are you going?”
“I want to try to get a line on those pirates.”
“Tonight? Won’t the trail be awfully cold?” Lani privately prided herself on knowing the proper investigative jargon. All those years of faithfully watching Magnum P.I. and Hawaii 5-0 every week were beginning to pay off.
“I suspect Britton’s probably heated it up,” Donovan replied.
“Donovan, people know you’re looking for Ford. You could be in danger, too.”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“And what, exactly, are you doing?”
“Going back to The Blue Parrot,” he informed her reluctantly. It was bad enough that Lani had walked into that dive in the middle of the afternoon. He damned well didn’t want her showing up there at night.
Despite his reassuring words, Lani was overcome with a growing sense of anxiety. “Not alone, you’re not.”
“I’m not taking you with me, Lani. Not this time.”
“But—”
“No.”
Lani had spent enough time with Donovan to know when arguing would be fruitless. He was, after all, a professional. And the FBI didn’t hire pushovers. She put her hand on his arm. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
Donovan decided it was nice to have someone worry about him. “Absolutely.” He kissed her. “See you in a bit.”
Lani seemed about to say something else but instead merely nodded. Despite his reassuring words as he left the gallery, she couldn’t forget that night so many years ago when he had crept through a dark and dangerous warehouse. Alone.
* * *
The clientele didn’t seem to have changed, but the shifts must have, because there was a different guy behind The Blue Parrot’s bar. The anchor and eagle tattoo on his forearm went along with the aloha shirt printed with various U.S. Navy ships.
“I was wondering when you’d get back,” he said, when Donovan sat down on a stool. “Adam, he’d be the bartender you met earlier, told me you and Lani had been in here looking for my cousin.”
“You’re Ford Britton’s cousin?”
“Yeah. He was born on Kauai, but he’s spent a lot of time since high school skipping around the islands. My name’s Nick.”
He proceeded to explain a complex line of family connections that Donovan didn’t even try to follow, but being a hot shot soon-to-be-special-agent detective, he’d already figured out family ties meant a lot more on this island than they did in other places.
“And you’d be Donovan Quinn. Nate’s detective friend from Oregon.”
“News gets around.”
“When you’re on an island, it goes round and round and round,” he said. “I’m guessing you haven’t met my cuz?”
“No. He’d already gone missing when I arrived on the island.”
“Yeah. I heard Taylor hired you. Which kind of pissed me off, because she could’ve come to me, being that I’m also a law enforcement professional, but I guess she was afraid I’d feel obliged to tell the chief.”
“You’re a cop?”
“Yeah. It was a natural fit being that Uncle Sam decided to put me into Shore Patrol. Which comes in handy working here from time to time. If there’s anything that gig teaches, it’s how to handle drunks… You going to order anything?”
“I wouldn’t turn down one of those bikini beers.”
“The Bikini Blonde Lager,” Nick said. “Not a bad choice. It’s a bit of a sleeper craft beer from Maui. One could argue it’s more like a Kölsch than a German Helles lager, but it’s a nice, easy American brew.�
� He popped the cap and set the yellow can with a hula girl on it in front of Donovan.
“Though, having been in the Navy myself,” Nick continued, “I seriously question their slogan about it being what sailors really come to shore for. Personally, I came for the women.”
“Yet you obviously know your beer.”
“Beer came in a close second,” he admitted with a grin that revealed a lot of memories. “I’m a home brewer now. Working to get into it full time once I retire, which hopefully is sooner, rather than later, which is why I’m moonlighting three nights a week here. And speaking of beers, from what you’ve learned about Ford, you’ve probably figured out he’s a few bottles short of a six-pack.”
“He appears to have made some mistakes.”
“There’s family talk that his dad tripped over the dog and dropped him on his head bringing him into the house from the hospital. I’m more in the camp that believes he’s just never grown up because he’s the baby of the family, a mama’s boy, and no one ever made him take responsibility for anything. Personally, I think Taylor would be better off dumping his fool ass, but no way am I going to play Dear Abby in that relationship.
“I did, by the way, tell him he was being an idiot not going through the proper channels when he found that ship.”
“You know about it?”
“Sure. This place was packed for ladies’ free Jell-O shot night when he got hammered, blew out his limit on his Visa buying a round for the house, talking about how that ship was going to be rich.”
“I was told he was talking about a new, rich girlfriend.”
“Yeah. But the guy who told you that isn’t a whole lot better in the gray-matter department than my cousin. He’d also been tossing back a lot of tequila shots that night, so I wouldn’t give a lot of veracity to anything he might say.
“About a week after that, these guys came looking for him. They were obviously not local cops, or I’d know them. And they sure as hell weren’t FBI. After they drove off, I ran their plates, then got their ID info from Kenny, who’d rented them the Buick. I put their names in the federal database back at the office, and they popped up connected to some mob guy in Honolulu. Who, in turn, has ties to an extended family of wise guys in Arizona.”
“What families?”
“The Tsukasa family on the island. Capelli in Phoenix.”
Donovan recognized the names immediately. The Tsukasa were a branch of the Japanese transnational Yakuza syndicate, and he’d been after the Capellis this past year when it was discovered they’d moved into Portland as a way station between the States and western Canada.
“Shit.”
“That’s putting it mildly. If Ford isn’t careful, he’s going to end up shark bait for sure.”
“Sounds like you think he’s still alive.”
“They haven’t turned the car back in yet. So, yeah, I’m guessing they’re still looking for him.” He gave Donovan a look. “I haven’t been able to find him, and believe me, I’ve been talking to all the usual suspects, so I’m guessing he’s been taken off island. Which gets complicated for me, because I’m still a cop, meaning that I’d have to check in with any other jurisdictions, and you never know who’s working for whom.”
Which, as much as Donovan hated to admit it, was true. Sometimes people you expected to be the good guys had gone over to the other side, where the pay was a helluva lot better.
“But if you’re going to save his sorry dumb ass,” Nick said, “it’d better be fucking soon. Because we’re talking a ticking clock here, brah… Want another brew?”
“No, thanks.” Donovan threw some bills on the bar. “I’ve got a dinner to get to.”
“At the Breslin place.” He put the cost of the beer into the box masquerading as a till and shoved the rest of the money in his pocket. “Lani’s a nice woman. We were sort of a couple for a few months our junior year in high school. I played wide receiver on the Mutineers. She was voted head cheerleader.”
Of course she was, Donovan thought. Not because she was beautiful, which she was, and not because her family was royalty, which was weird to think about, but they were, but because she would have been just as friendly and cheerful as she was now. If he’d been getting pounded on a football field every Friday night, he sure as hell would’ve felt a lot better looking over and seeing her waving her pom poms on the sidelines.
* * *
Although he knew Tess would probably yell at him for being a chauvinist cop, on the drive up the coast from The Blue Parrot, Donovan decided not to tell Lani what Nick had shared about the mobster who’d hired the pirates. The pirates had gone down with the ship, but Donovan knew they would’ve been expendable. It was the cash the guys were looking for. Not because a quarter of a million dollars was what it once was. But from what he’d been able to tell, when he’d worked organized crime, the bad guys had long memories and held grudges all the way to their graves.
When the time came to confront the hired goons, which he hoped would be sooner rather than later, Donovan didn’t want Lani anywhere in the vicinity.
She threw herself into Donovan’s arms when he arrived at the house. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you?”
“I told you I could handle things,” Donovan reminded her.
“I know. But I was still going crazy.” She ran her hands over him, as if searching for hidden injuries. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Positive. Although if you want, we can go somewhere more private, and you can check me over for broken bones.”
Her eyes were bright with both relief and desire. “Remind me of that offer when we get home.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
“Did you learn anything that will put us closer to Ford?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, dear. And we were getting so close.”
“Don’t worry, something’ll turn up. It always does. Here—I brought you something.” He bent to pick up the gift bag he’d dropped when she’d jumped him.
“Oh, Donovan,” Lani murmured, as he slipped the lei over her head. “What a lovely surprise.”
“The woman at the shop told me that the ancient chiefs used these flowers to make leis for Kealehai, so I figured they’d be perfect for you.”
Her fingers plucked the feathery scarlet ohia lehua blossoms. “They used to be considered sacred,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “I like buying you things, Lani.”
His words were simple, but the sudden solemnity of his tone threatened to be her undoing. Afraid she’d break into tears, she took him by the hand and led him into the solarium, where the family had decided to wait for his arrival. Greetings were exchanged, a drink was pushed into his hand, and although Margaret was nothing but gracious, Donovan got the feeling that she knew a secret she wasn’t sharing.
“Speaking of buying things,” Lani murmured, after they’d sat down for dinner. “Everyone appreciates what you did this evening at the gallery.”
“Buy three of your father’s paintings?” Donovan asked with a shrug. “That wasn’t being nice; I liked them.”
She glanced down at the glass of rum in his hand. “How many of those things did you have at The Blue Parrot before coming here? Those paintings were the worst of the bunch.”
“They couldn’t have been,” he said, playing with her thigh through the slit in the skirt beneath the tablecloth. “They were all of you.”
“How on earth could you tell?”
“Simple. I looked at them, felt the heat, and knew it couldn’t be anyone else.” He tilted his head. “Have I told you that you look absolutely nani this evening?”
Lani had noticed that, little by little over the days, native words had begun to slip into Donovan’s vocabulary. That grim business-suited man she had first seen struggling along the beach had undergone an amazing metamorphosis into the Donov
an Quinn who was now sitting beside her.
Donovan was wearing a white polo shirt—she still hadn’t managed to talk him into a flowered aloha shirt—depicting a trio of surfers across his broad chest while showing off firm biceps and a pair of loose white pants. The expensive Italian loafers had given way to a pair of practical beach sandals. All in all, Lani thought that Donovan had never looked better.
He was gradually succumbing to the philosophy of hoomanawanui —let’s take it easy—with an ease that almost had Lani believing he could be happy here in paradise. With her.
“ Mahalo ,” she answered. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said. “For a malihini .”
His fingers skimmed higher, creating sparks on her leg. “Ah, but you’re prejudiced.”
Lani caught his hand before things got dangerously out of control. “You bet I am.”
* * *
As the family enjoyed after-dinner conversation out by the pool, Thomas drew Donovan aside, inviting him into the solarium.
“I think I owe you an apology,” Thomas surprised Donovan by saying as soon as they were alone.
“An apology?”
Before he could answer, Lani’s father’s phone pinged. He pulled the phone from his pocket and read the text.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave,” he said. “Debbie Akana’s baby was due last week. She’s on her way to the hospital now.”
“It must keep you busy, maintaining a general practice.”
“It’s an around-the-clock job,” Thomas agreed cheerfully. “But I love it.”
“Do you ever regret not specializing?” Donovan asked, genuinely curious. Although family practice had made a comeback of sorts in the past few years, general practitioners were still a minority.
“I did specialize,” Lani’s father corrected Donovan amiably.
“On Orchid Island?”
“New York,” Thomas corrected. “I was chief of surgery at Mount Sinai.”
Okay. That was one of the biggest surprises anyone in the colorful Breslin family had thrown him. “How could you leave a prestigious position like that to deliver babies on some remote island?”